


Hook, Line and Sinker

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Bickering, Camping, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, IronBat - Freeform, M/M, Making Out, Men in the woods, Mother Nature Being an Asshole, Post-Iron Man 2, Post-The Dark Knight, Snarky Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two bickering billionaires out of commission, a plan from CEO's Potts and Fox involving the great outdoors of Montana, two weeks off... what could possibly go wrong? </p><p>Oh, right - everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batsocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsocks/gifts).



> This one goes a long way from silly brainstorming over to turning into the wish for an actual story. I've been shying away from posting it for m o n t h s, because I really didn't/don't want to mess this up! I got introduced to bits and pieces of a very special place this summer, and instead of going with it like I said I would, my mind decided to go bonkers at some point, plot-wise.
> 
> So, Batsocks my dear, I hope it is remotely what you thought it might be - and if not, please don't hate me, lol. Happy reading :)

If things were different, Bruce Wayne would have never gotten out of his bed that morning. Due to inevitable surgery of his torn ACL, he had been confined to strict bed rest for the past few weeks. His restless nature, therefore, had jumped at the first chance of a change of scenery. As it turned out, his first trip to the outside world took him straight to Wayne Tower.

A small delegation from Stark Industries had officially announced themselves, to discuss the many fruitful possibilities of green energy joint-ventures. Both SI and WE had been eager to advance in on the field, so why not do it together? The cause was noble, the conditions dreadful.

Sitting in his least favorite kind of suit, the one saying Armani on the inside, Bruce busied himself glowering at his opposite. Not that Tony Stark; self-proclaimed Iron Man, and one of the most infuriating men on earth, minded. He rather took it with an air of audacity that led Bruce to deem him to be the human equivalent of a headache, five minutes into the meeting.  
  
“Mister Wayne, may I just divert your fickle attention back to the issue at hand?”

Said Mister Wayne gave his partner of sorts the most rotten stare he could muster up. “Why yes, after we've all truly enjoyed waiting 20 minutes for you to get your Starbucks, Mister Stark.” Tony put tender fingers to a pair of amber shades and pulled them down to peek over the rim.

“Wow. Anyone care to remind Asslord McDouchebag here I'm not too interested in doing this environmental roadshow either? Who ate your bowl of sunshine this morning, thundercloud?” After taking a bad swing during one of his latest battles, Stark was said to still be suffering from a moderate concussion after connecting with a 60-ton M1 Abrams tank in Saudi Arabia.

Shifting on his hip, Wayne was inwardly mourning the fact Stark's head was still attached to his body.

“That's rich, coming from the biggest gun-toting capitalist I ever had to sit in the same room with. Instead of going for overpriced coffee, you should go and do some soul-searching. You might even find one.” At that, Tony bristled almost visibly and pointed an index finger at him. “You take that back, you oppressive, insulting shitweasle! Iron Man's a goddamn national icon!”  
  
Bruce crossed his arms over his broad chest. Armani complained with a soft rip of the fabric. “I don't see why. I'm not insulting, I'm merely describing you and your flying trash can.” Pepper Potts choked on her cough candy. Lucius Fox dropped his pen, only to near-collide with his secretary as both bent down to pick it up. A wave of awkward silence rolled through the large conference room. Two CEOs glimpsed at each other.

“I think this is the _perfect_ time for a little five-minute break – don't you think, Mister Stark?”  
  
At the insistent voice of the composed woman running his business life, Tony rose without an answer and stormed off. He came back mere seconds later to snatch his half-full Starbucks cup from the table with an indignant expression and protruding jaw. And glared at his counterpart. “A quick word there, Wayne? In private if you dare.” Tony's thumb made a daring jab in the direction of an adjacent, empty room.

Fox made a feeble attempt at wanting to halter Bruce's steps, but the latter had already risen to his feet and was on his way to hobble over to where Tony had slammed the door open. Standing in the doorway, Wayne turned around one last time to give the uneasy 20-person delegation at the table a final glowering once-over. The corners of his mouth had turned south.  
  
“Make that ten.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

As poised and dignified as usual, Pepper leaned slightly sideways, over to where Fox sat. She did it without taking her eyes off the two silhouettes arguing visibly behind soundproof doors. Tony Stark had just snatched his glasses off and was talking in a steady flow, gesturing along with his shades. Bruce Wayne kept on shaking his head, lips pressed into a tight line.

“We need to stage an intervention, Lucius. Soon.”  
Fox folded his fingers with a circumspect motion and cocked his head.  
“You're not wrong, Pepper.”

With interest, they watched Tony throw his hands into the air with an exasperated expression while Bruce jabbed a finger into Stark's direction, taking over the talkative role. Pepper threw two members at the table a rotten look as she caught them making bets on either billionaire. “Maybe right now.” In unison Potts and Fox then rose from the table, to enter the arena and its gates to hell.

“... and what I've been saying _forever_ is that _you_ need to lighten the fuck up, and...”  
“I'm not letting a man with a severe case of egotistical God complex tell me I what _I_ need to...”  
“WHOA! So _that's_ where you're coming from?! You know Wayne, why don't you just go and f...”

The sound of two cleared throats interrupted Tony from deducing his latest train of thought. He swung around and made a sweeping gesture towards his former assistant. “Pep, you've come at the right time! Tell Long John Silver here that his attitude sucks balls. His mood no less!” Before Pepper had the chance to even open her mouth, Bruce grabbed the indignity that was his temporary walking stick.

He swung it like a spear, and the redhead involuntarily took a step back. “Lucius, call it off. Call the meeting off. I'm not having this, I'm done. More than done.” Fox eyed the flushed cheeks of his usually composed employer and his irate body language with well-hidden amusement. “Oh, Miss Potts and I have seen to sending the delegation off already, Mister Wayne. You might as well take the time to listen to our mutual 'backup plan'.“

Without waiting for consent, the competent CEO of Wayne Enterprises began to explain matters in a level-headed way. It was Tony Stark who first laughed out loud; a mixture of true bewilderment and honest delight. Especially at his counterpart's even more hostile expression. “No. Put me down for no. Forget it.” Despite his physical disability, Bruce Wayne managed to storm off right through the small aisle between Potts and Fox.

The latter threw his female counterpart a knowing if still pleased look.   
Tony Stark gave a sarcastic slow clap, mustered Pepper and Fox, and tilted his head.  
“Well, that could've gone better. But tell me more.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was supposed to be fun, they said.  
It was supposed to be relaxing, they concluded.  
Bruce Wayne for one was not the least bit convinced.

After near biting each other's heads off, both billionaires had been forced into taking what Potts and Fox called an 'inevitable corporate retreat'. Two weeks off in a secluded area of Montana without any hero shenanigans were supposed to build mutual trust and clear irritable minds. Wayne was long since convinced Stark was irrevocably out of his mind for many decades now.

Four days after their fateful and fruitless meeting in Gotham City, said man awaited Bruce Wayne at the military airstrip at Great Falls, dressed in a, for him, rather comical ensemble of checkered shirt, stonewashed jeans, and a pair of brand new hiking boots. Tony mustered his sour-looking companion from head to toe as he made his way over to him, bag in hand and eyes hidden behind a pair of costly sunglasses.

A set of pearly white teeth flashed at Wayne in greeting. Something fierce lay in Tony Stark's grin. “You're overdressed.” The Gothamite cast a glance down his combo of dark denims, black Timberland lace-up shoes, and an anthracite cashmere cardigan. He took his time to deliberately muster the shorter billionaire from head to toe with a cocked eyebrow until his mouth wrinkled in refusal.  
  
“Remains to be seen. I'll save the flannel for more desperate times.”  
Tony made a cooing sound and a gallant gesture towards a huge SUV behind him.  
“Sounds kinky. After you, Wayne.”

Bruce squinted at the Range Rover in bronze metallic that was occupying most of the runway.  
“You brought your own vehicle?”  
He wrinkled his nose at the license plate stating 'Stark 69' and cast its owner a withering look.

“Well duh. How many other people by the name would you know?”  
With a reinforced grip on his weekender, Bruce marched past him towards the car.  
“Thankfully none.”  
  
While Bruce stowed his leather bag in the backseat, Tony got in behind the wheel. Just as Wayne was about to reach for the passenger door, Stark pressed the accelerator and let the SUV move forward. His glimpse into the rearview mirror revealed a vexed Gothamite. With a chuckle, Tony put the Rover into reverse and stopped in front of Bruce. When the latter just glared at him, unmoving, Tony graced him with a mock-pout.

“Cheer up, man, c'mon, I was just kidding. Kiss and make up time.”  
Seething, Bruce yanked the door open and got in.  
“Oh, I got something you can kiss, but it ain't my lips.”  
  
At the hissed out words, Tony put a hand to his ear as he maneuvered the Range into traffic.  
“What was that? Am I annoying you by any chance?”  
Bruce Wayne's eyes narrowed to slits, but he kept them focused straight ahead.

“Only when you're breathing.”  
  
They rode along in silence for the rest of the way.

* * *

After a couple of miles, they reached a local motorhome dealer. Stark seemed to have gotten more directions from his redhead CEO than Bruce had received from Lucius Fox because he immediately went for a man sitting outside of a container office. He was in his late-fifties, wore a groomed mustache, and an impressive straw cowboy hat. Full of mistrust, Bruce watched them disappear inside.

No five minutes later, Stark reappeared whistling merrily while twirling a key ring around his index finger. Square on his head sat the RV dealer's former hat. The latter reappeared in the doorway, counting a fistful of dollars. The Gothamite watched Stark saunter back to him, until Tony hooked an elbow into the open passenger window, chewed obscenely obvious on a large piece of bubble gum, and grinned.

“Up and at 'em, Waynster. Get out of the car, they're gonna keep it here.”   
  
Cautious as to yet another silly prank, Bruce remained seated. “What did you do, other than getting yourself head lice from a stranger?” Tony drew in air and created an inverted bubble. It snapped with a loud, clacking sound. “Signed the papers and gotten the car keys, silly. Think we'd go camping in a Range Rover?” Some faint, chiming alarm in the back of Bruce's head began to go off, increasing in volume.  
  
“Camping? No, we're supposed to check into a luxury residence high up the hills!”  
  
The smile on Stark's amused features multiplied into an even bigger and nastier version. “Oh, you can check in right away if you like. There's your luxury residence over there. Voila!” The rental RV Stark pointed at was a class A monstrosity on six wheels. Bruce all but recoiled. “No. No. No way!” Tony bobbed his head at Bruce's reluctance and flicked two fingers against the hat's brim.  
  
“I somehow got the feeling 'No' is a very prominent part of your daily vocabulary.”

The owner of the rental RV store approached them before Bruce could give a retort, ready to take the Range Rover into his possession for time being. Reluctant, Bruce Wayne had no other choice but to step out of the SUV and grab his bag from the trunk. The RV dealer beamed at them. “Happy camping, fellas.” As the billionaires walked over to the huge motorhome, Wayne mustered the vehicle with a pained expression.

“This is--” Tony grinned like a kid on Christmas Eve. “Yeah! Amazing - a true beauty. And see?” He made a salesperson-impersonated sweep over the trailer's name. “Made by Thor. A deity!” Closing his eyes, Bruce brought two fingers to the bridge of his nose and pinched hard for a second. “I need to make a phone call.”

Much to his luck, Lucius Fox's mobile was temporarily not available.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Batsocks for telling me about Malmstrom Air Force Base, and the fact that it is far more huge than I thought (Tony's prime parking space probably still prevents a few jets from their scheduled lift-off, lol)


	4. Chapter 4

The interior of the trailer was surprisingly bigger than Bruce had suspected it to be at first sight. Custom hardwood panels and cabinets dominated the living room area with its plush couch elements and terracotta floor tiles. The private area was a queen-sized bed with panorama windows and lots of storage space.

Once they had put their bags on the couch elements, Tony made his way over to the driver's cabin and flopped into the crème-colored, plush leather seat. “We're gonna need supplies. I was told Scheels is the paradise for fishing and camping gear.” Bruce stole a glimpse into the smallish, oval-shaped restroom and slid the door shut again. “Are you channeling your inner redneck, or do you hold shares in the camping industry?”  
  
Stark made a few tutting sounds and threw him a scolding glance over his shoulder.  
“Are you always this pessimistic and socially offensive, Wayne?”  
With a little kick of his heel against the empty, half-open fridge, Bruce went up to the front.  
  
“I'd call it realistic and culturally aware, and yes.”  
“See, I just _know_ why I don't ever invite you to my parties.”  
“Lucky me.”  
  
Tony threw him a pointed 'Oh please' glance and motioned for Bruce to take a seat.  
“Buckle up, buttercup, there'll be plenty of time for you to drop them charm grenades later.”  
The Gothamite focused on the road ahead and chose to ignore his companion and his jibes.

The big, beige-colored 'Scheels' with its red lettering was already visible from their spot at the RV dealer. Tony murmured to himself as he went to try out most of the motorhome's electronic features, engine running. Something itched in Wayne's fingers, but eventually Stark drove off. They entered the large mall and soon found themselves surrounded by adventure gear and sports equipment.

Enthralled at such variety at hand, Tony dragged Bruce from department to department before he came to a, for him, very sensible solution. “Look at all this stuff! We definitely need a hand. Be right back.” Weary, Bruce stole a glimpse at his mobile. Lucius got his call back request ten minutes ago. What was keeping him so long?

While he stood and pondered a short trip to the archery aisle for something sharp and dangerous, Stark soon reappeared with a noisy shopping cart. It was already stuffed to the brim, and Tony laughed at Bruce's refusing, antagonistic expression. “Having fun there, Wayne?” Bruce evaded his nudge with a step to the right, near bumping into a fishing rod display. “Already planning my flight back if you really want to know.”

His fingers were busy typing away on his phone. Stark responded with an aggravating wiggle of his eyebrows and a shark-like grin. “You really have got no clue at all what you signed for, eh?” Bruce looked up from the final sentence to Lucius he had just formulated. And pressed 'send'. “I didn't sign for _any_ thing.” Tony made a few tsking noises as he grabbed another spinning reel from the shelf.

“First one to back out pays for all joint-venture ad campaigns. They must've gotten a huge betting pool running. Nobody told ya? Should keep a better eye out for that sneaky CEO of yours.” Inwardly, Bruce summoned all of his trained meditation techniques to refrain from pushing a smug Tony headfirst into a basin of live bait. His competitive streak then overtook his bout of disgruntlement, and he surprised Stark by taking the cart.  
  
“Then the faster we'll get this done and over with, the better.”  
  
At the Gothamite's fast pace, Tony hurried along to throw item after item into the cart. After paying a four-figure amount without batting an eyelid, they hauled their purchases into the trailer. Bemused, Bruce held up a pair of waders before Tony snatched it from his fingers. "You're not treating this lightly, are you?” Tony Stark threw him a benevolent smile and pushed a can of worms into Bruce's hands.

“If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right. And fishing is the most serene thing there is.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“It's basically like meditating, only with worms.”  
  
“... are you sure you've let that concussion heal out fully?”

Instead of a reply, Tony craned his neck to glimpse at some wakeboards and tubes lined at the side. “Heck yes! Why didn't I think of that sooner? Take that back with ya, kay?” He was quick to snatch his mobile from his pocket and left Bruce to dispose of the empty shopping cart. Alone, Bruce stole another glance at the darkened screen of his mobile. No reply so far.  
  
With a scowl, he pocketed the device again and looked over at the sunlit parking lot outside. As soon as Fox answered, Bruce would tell him what he thought of his off-the-wall negotiating skills. Once Wayne returned, Stark lingered in the RV's door and rocked back and forth on his heels with impatience. “What took you so long? We've got to get going - do some little detour.”  
  
The taller man crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave the best glower he could muster up. “Why's that? I don't want any detours.” Petulance was met with brash cockiness. “Because I got us a boat.” Bruce inhaled. Deep. And exhaled forcefully through his nostrils. “To come back to that concussion of yours...”  
  
“Can it, Waynster. Pepper said it was fine, so it's fine. I'm _so_ in the mood for speed boating.”  
  
Bruce looked at his watch.  
Not even 10 am. 14 days to go.  
Hell had a name. It was Montana.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Montana on behalf of Mr. Wayne. The pictures I've seen are pure beauty!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you a visual person like me? If so, check out the really beautiful place on earth that this chapter is all about: http://batsocks.tumblr.com/post/136197392784/one-of-my-absolute-favorite-fanfic-authors-and
> 
> Pictures courtesy of Batsocks - thanks a bunch... and way to make me blush, dear!

Tony made a big show out of wheeling their huge RV off the parking lot and onto 10th  Avenue South. He fiddled nonstop with the radio until Bruce cast him a sinister glare. It prompted Tony to tune into a station that played nonstop pop music. A vein on Bruce's temple began to throb. “Is this really necessary.” It came out a statement, not a question. Stark's mouth wormed into a gleefully fake grin.  
  
“Unless you wanna start a philosophical discussion with me, Lady Gaga stays.”  
Wayne's right eyelid twitched twice, and he turned his head away to look out of the window.  
“Moronic.”  
  
Stark stopped tapping his fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat.  
“What was that?”  
The Gothamite gave a quiet snort.  
  
“The lyrics. The whole song.”  
  
For a couple of seconds, the chorus of 'Poker Face' reverberated through the driver's cabin. “Yeah, I told Steph it might come off as a speech impediment, but she liked it. Girl was right.” From the way Bruce's jaw worked, Tony could see the underlying questions on his face. “What? Just like she doesn't call me Iron Man, I don't call her Lady Gaga. Not even in bed.” Now Wayne put his arm upon the door and palmed his eyes.  
  
“I might have to live with that mental picture forever.”

“Just kiddin there, Prude... err, Bruce. National icons don't go screwing each other. Except for me 'n Kesha, bless her soul.”  
  
In an instant, Wayne looked back at him. There was open dislike on his face. “You are even more perverted and disgusting than I thought.” Tony gave a clicking sound with his tongue. “So what? You a virgin or what? Don't tell me the whole money-and-looks thing doesn't work out for you.” When Bruce chose to stay silent, Stark sensed his chance. “ _Aha!_ Names, Wayne, I need names. Or vids, if you're into that stuff.”  
  
Bruce continued to stare along, but the corners of his mouth slightly lifted upwards.  
“A gentleman never tells, Stark, sorry to disappoint.”  
Tony grabbed the steering wheel wide to perform a sharp turn onto another road.  
  
“Virgin for sure.”

* * *

Holter reservoir was an idyllic, if a bit overcrowded campground down behind a dam on the river.  
"That spot over there looks good."  
The rail fences gave a sickening crunch as Tony tried his hand at backing their luxury motorhome in.

"Not anymore."  
  
All deadpan voice, Bruce eyed the knocked down, wooden fencing through his rear-view mirror. Stark seemed unmindful, continued to wheel the RV in, and was off to speak to some guy in a white-painted wooden barracks no ten seconds later. Bruce got out of his seat and eyed people and scenery around him with skepticism. As soon as Tony returned from the ranger's office, screeches erupted.

“Mom!!! Mommy look – it's Iron Man! Look, mommy! IRON MAN! IRON MAN!”  
Tony Stark's expressive face lit up like the Christmas tree in front of the Rockefeller Center.  
“Sorry Wayne, my fans. Be right back. And then we're gonna try that beauty over there.”

He pointed at a shiny black-red speedboat on the sidelines. At Bruce's questioning look, Tony wore a smug grin.   
"What can I say? Pepper worked her magic. My CEO's better than yours."  
Deciding not to rise to the bait, Bruce focused on the speedboat and found his mood slightly improving.

Stark soon was surrounded by a horde of overly excited boys and girls. While getting recognized by the public was a thing Bruce Wayne abhorred, for the most part, he found himself annoyed as Tony Stark's one-man show took on forever. From afar, the Gothamite watched him scribble down autographs for the kids, giving out rounds of high fives, and basking in his adolescent spotlight.

A little, blonde girl eyed Bruce with suspicion as she passed him by before she tugged at Tony's jeans-clad leg.  
“Is your friend a superhero, too, Iron Man? I think not. He looks real mean. Like a meanie vampire or something.”  
Bruce frowned behind his pair of dark sunglasses. One of Tony's eyebrows rose in amusement.  
  
“Now now, babycakes, he may be a pale grouch, but he's completely harmless. I swear.”

When Stark also became busy posing for pictures, his scowling companion uncrossed his arms, snatched the car keys from Tony's hands, and went for their designated pick up truck with its boat trailer attached. A glimpse over his shoulder, then he put the car in reverse. After the first few yards, Bruce had to shift gears again and give it another try. The angle was too steep. Dismayed, the Gothamite adjusted again.

He had driven the Tumbler. The Batpod. Countless high-end, luxury cars. Helicopters were no problem for him. He surely would not... The trailer seemed to have something else than Bruce Wayne in mind and got wedged with a squeaking sound and a metal rattle. Soon enough, Tony Stark strolled over into his direction, hands on his belt buckle, and peeked through the open driver's window.

“Still not launched? Where'd you get your driver's license? Are you even able to back up at all?”  
Bruce threw an arm over the headrest and squinted at him in unmasked disapproval.  
“Are you even able to shut up at all? Go back to your baby cheerleaders and leave me alone.”

“Why, you're just jealous I get the all the hoopla and you get... Cruella De Vil. Smile once in a while, _Brucie_ , it might just do the trick.” Wayne's fingers all but left imprints on the steering wheel. “If you ever call me that again, I'm going to kick your sorry behind out into the lake.” Unimpressed, Tony waved him off and adjusted his shades. “You're just sour because you're incompetent, s'all.”  
  
Bruce looked near ready to jump in his face. “No, I'm just sour because I have to spend my time doing nonsense with the biggest moron of the west coast.” Clear, open offense materialized on Tony's face while his mouth formed a scandalized 'o'. “Who's the moron not being able to back up a trailer, east coast emo, huh?” The furrow between his eyes almost matched the deep ones on Wayne's forehead.

“Neanderthal.”  
“Ignoramus!”

Their increasingly vocal argument soon drew the first spectators. A few elder couples watched them with interest from their boats on the water. Some more children with Popsicles in their mouths scurried about and grinned at the two bickering men. “Hey, Mister, need help? Need someone to back you up? I gotta cousin who can help you.” Tony snatched off his shades, threw a stout boy a scathing look and pushed his sleeves up.  
  
“Nope. Shoo Chubby, I'm gonna show the desk jockey there how this gets done. Wayne – out.”  
  
In a matter of seconds, Bruce and Tony had switched places. Stark revved the engine, turned the wheel with the palm of one hand - and failed spectacularly. Once, then twice. The trailer balked, shuddered and twisted, but never so much backed up into the direction of the water. A small crowd had gathered around the scene, and Wayne noticed people started to whisper and point at them. Some even dug out their mobile phones.

So much for peace and serenity.  
  
Arms once again protecting his chest, the Gothamite shook his head. His mouth still formed an evil smirk. “A genius. In a flying suit of armor.” As the enraged BLM ranger came running over, waving and yelling about the broken fence he had noticed, it was Bruce Wayne who got exposed to the brunt of his ire. It also was impassive Bruce Wayne who flipped his wallet open and went to settle matters the only acceptable way there was.

They left the parking lot hidden behind their sunglasses, and to the sounds of roaring laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a lot to answer for: Apologies to the two ladies mentioned in this one; technically this story takes place in 2010, so it's all about the pop culture hoopla back then.
> 
> Also - all of MY apologies to Batsocks and the never-ending patience I received for this chapter. I am sorry for making the same mistakes over and over again, and for being such a ditz in general!! For your own sake - please never take me camping, lol!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a glimpse of what Tony and Bruce get to see on their journey (or, at least, one of them does ;))  
> http://batsocks.tumblr.com/post/136491678114/square-butte-great-falls-montana-as-mentioned

No sooner than the genius inventor sat back in the driver's seat of their RV, he cast his companion an expecting look.  
“What?”  
At Bruce's petulant question, Tony drummed his fingers upon the huge steering wheel, looking ready for another round of verbal fire.  
  
“I need directions.”  
“That would've been your parents' job, some fifty years ago.”  
“Assclown. I turned 40 this year, so save your gratuitous drivel and open the glove box.”  
  
With a minuscule smirk at the peeved intonation, Bruce did as he was told. After he had produced a well-worn, crinkled guidebook with ginger fingers, Tony pressed the green button to which the engine ignited, and started to fiddle with the entertainment system. “There should be an address on the first two or three pages. Gimme that.” Casting him a suspicious look, Bruce began to thumb through the copy.  
  
“Little Prickly Pear Creek.” He lowered the booklet as Tony erupted in a hearty laugh. “You're doing this on purpose.” Amused Tony began to program their GPS. He eventually shook his head but kept on grinning. “Just got told recently how annoying a little prick can be. But that's a whole 'nother story.” His hands grabbed the big leather wheel with confidence. “Prickly Pear Creek, here we come.”

During their rather tranquil drive, Bruce eventually gave up his cramped up posture on the passenger seat. Instead of watching Tony like a hawk as he maneuvered the enormous vehicle along the roads, the Gothamite began to focus on the beauty that was Montana's landscape. At some point he thumbed through the guidebook in his lap again, catching Tony's attention. "Don't tell me you've given me the wrong address."  
  
Bruce did not even raise his head to meet his gaze. “It looked far more impressive than pictured in here." At his cryptic mumblings, Stark craned his neck to glimpse at the pages. "What did?" Wayne eventually pursed his lips and snapped the little booklet shut. "Square Butte. And from the look on your face, you clearly missed out on it.” The man behind the wheel cast him a pointed glance.  
  
"I know what it looks like, Mister Over-Achiever, okay? I could even look at it in my workshop if I wanted to!" Bruce grabbed the edges of his leather seat armrests and drummed his fingertips against them. “Don't tell me Tony Stark has a C. M. Russell painting hanging at home. How... refreshing.” His slight mockery caused the designated driver to curl his lips in jest.

“Don't tell me Bruce Wayne actually has a sense of humor installed. Funny much, Robocop? And just FYI, I was talking about the life-size 3D schematics Jarvis can whip up for me in less than two seconds flat. You can keep all those old ass paintings in that mausoleum you call your crib.” With their eyes hidden behind two different pairs of Ray-Ban sunglasses, both soon gave up the stare down attempt.

Instead, Tony wiggled his seat with something akin to yielding. “I wasn't looking forward to this trip, too, just so you know. Been a hellish six months.” His voice sounded like an open invitation to a conversation Bruce was not keen on having. All leaked valetudinarianism about Stark and his metal suits had made Wayne wary. Never trust a guy who would jump the shark on his own press conference; lewd billionaire playboy at that.  
  
Bruce then stretched out his still sore leg and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I for one am able to make it through the upcoming days on as little hassle as possible. That includes cutting down on all superfluous banter, irrelevant backtalk, or any kind of witty comebacks on your part. This RV should be big enough for us to go our separate ways.” Tony snorted and made use of the turn signal to take the upcoming exit at I-5.  
  
“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. Something about today really makes me want to be hungover tomorrow.”

* * *

“I don't have a signal.”  
  
Stark walked around the RV, holding what looked to be a slim piece of glass into the sky. On closer examination, Bruce identified it as his mobile phone. He exhaled and walked back over from where he had watched the river flow in steady, calming motions down below. “Of course not, we're in the middle of nowhere.” His voice, however, lacked any true cynicism.  
  
For the first time in weeks, Bruce had been able to take a real, deep breath without the smell of failure and moral putrefaction that clung to Gotham City. Tony failed to notice, busy brandishing his phone around the midday autumn skies. “I'm connected to all Stark Industries satellite systems that are out there, and yet...” He then squinted over to where Bruce stood and reached out towards him without warning.  
  
“Gimme your phone, I want to see if you got something.”  
Wayne sidestepped him, even as he made a move for the inside pocket of his jacket.  
“I don't, and hands off.”  
  
Stark continued fishing for the taller man's hand until an enervated Bruce slapped him away. The sudden movement sent the sleek StarkPhone flying out of Tony's hand. It disappeared over the cliff to hit the gurgling water of the river, lost forever. Both men watched on, neither said a word. Eventually, Bruce Wayne cleared his throat as Tony Stark glowered at him.  
  
“That was unfortunate, but your own fault.”  
From his vantage point, Tony cautiously peeked down at the rushing stream.  
“Next generation's gonna be life-proof. Bummer. And you owe me 3.000 bucks.”

Bruce glimpsed at his watch.  
It was a little after 1 pm.  
13.5 days to go. He sighed.  
  
“I'm going to have a look around.”  
At Tony's expectant start off into his direction, Bruce raised his chin in defiance.  
“ _Alone.”_

Stark rolled his eyes and made a dismissive wave into his direction before he disappeared inside their motorhome. Bruce marched on until he had conquered the other end of the steep hill they had parked their RV upon and glanced down across the vast landscape. High up there, with the wind whipping at his hair, his latest bout of irritation vanished into thin air upon the peacefulness of the moment.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he returned to his transitory abode with the best intentions of being complaisant and see about Stark's broken phone.  
  
Until...  
  
“Lord!”  
Wayne all but did a complete 180 and slammed the door shut with force. His indignant voice hollered through from the outside.  
“I don't believe this! This place is deserted beyond belief – this trailer is 35 feet long, and you have to do THAT right THERE and right NOW?”

From where Tony lay sprawled on the couch, he scrambled to his feet and pulled his pants back up. In ten seconds, he had yanked the door open and poked his head out. The Gothamite was already on his way back into the direction he just returned from. “I've got needs, Wayne! Manly needs! We can't all be asexuals like you.” Bruce glimpsed over his shoulder. Thankfully Stark was covered by that time if still leering.  
  
“But, hey: Morning wood totally gets whole new meaning around this place, eh?”  
Wayne pretended to put his hands over his ears and shook his head at the same time.  
“I cannot hear you. If I cannot see or hear you, none of this is real.”  
  
All the time he kept on walking further off into the distance.  
Tony just shrugged at his broad back and went back to his unfinished business.  
He made sure to lock the door from the inside that time.

 


	7. Chapter 7

When Bruce returned from his unwilling walk, he found Stark outside by the river, dressed in the hideous pair of waders. He fiddled with a fishing rod, and Bruce watched it describe a wide arc as Tony hauled it off with a flick of his wrist. It looked amusingly unprofessional, Wayne decided. He then mustered the shorter man getting into a wide stance, knees bent.

Stuffed inside the waders, Tony looked like a huge walking hotdog, Bruce thought, not without a gratifying portion of cynicism. He was about to move and head for their trailer when he heard a yell. “I GOT ONE! It's huge! Wayne, HEY!” Bruce mustered Tony's hectic tugging and spooling with mild interest from afar. “Since you're clearly not speaking about what's in your pants, I'd say hold it steady.”

Stark threw him an enervated and very evil eye. “Get over here and help me, goddammit!” He was already starting to wobble on the spot; whatever he got on the hook was strong. Interest piqued, Bruce strolled closer to the riverside, hands in his jeans pockets. He mustered the clear water and the big brown trout that was bouncing about the fishing rod. “Quite a catch. Fortune favors fools has never been truer.”

When Tony almost did a somersault into the river, Bruce laughed out loud for the very first time. Stark splashed headfirst into the water, losing his grip on the rod by trying to keep afloat. “FUCK!” The water was only a little more than knee-deep, so Bruce did not bother to come to the rescue. Instead he stood, rocked on his heels, and watched in amusement how a soggy Tony Stark waded back ashore.  
  
“You fucker, stop grinning like a tool!”  
The sound Tony's waders made as he stomped past Bruce were squishy, sloshing ones.  
“Some good fishing you did there. Was that a disposable fishing rod?”  
  
Stark did not bother to turn around and only held up a middle finger in reply.

* * *

Later that day, when Bruce had his usual, stoic mask back in place, and Tony had switched his soaked set of clothes for dry ones, he uttered his request for a bonfire to get warmed up. At the same time, he began to assemble food upon one of the little folding tables, and Bruce groused from afar at the masses of fast food he was piling up.

Before they left for Little Prickly Pear Creek, they had stopped at Smith's on the way out of town. Wayne had stuck to his well-balanced diet of high protein foods, complex carbs, and as much fresh produce he could get his hands on. Stark had splurged on endless packs of chocolate bars, various cookies, chips, M&M's and Oreos. He was just about to place some Chex Mix and a bottle of soda on the table.

“That's no real food, that's a recipe for gastropathy.” With a brush to his denims, Bruce gave the yet small, glimmering fire a final once-over. “And watch out for those seagulls. We don't want to poison them with your crap.” Tony followed his line of view and made waving, dismissive gestures at the birds circling his food collection. “Man, you've really got your head so far up your butt, Wayne, it's a wonder you manage to walk upright.”  
  
The second he turned to walk back inside the RV was the moment one of the gulls went for it. Before any of the two men could step in, the bird went down with a mewing sound, grabbed the bag of M&M's from the table and fled. A couple of chocolate covered peanuts fell out of the sky as it soared away. Tony made an obscene gesture at the offing gull, then laughed. “Shucks, but at least I got enough spares.”  
  
In no time, they sat around the fire over their respective food selection and munched on in silence.

Tony tried for conversation a couple of times, but only got monosyllable grunts in return. He stole a chopped bell pepper off Bruce's plate and stuffed it into his mouth. “Only thing missing now is a harp and we'd be having some Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn vibes.” Wayne narrowed his eyes and pulled his plate out of Tony's reach as the latter's nimble fingers reached for another piece of vegetable.  
  
“Paws off.”  
Tony wiggled a prepacked Oreo stack at him.  
“Tit for tat?”

Bruce reached out to grab the cookie and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. “Hey!” Even at Tony's indignation, he did not bother to hand over something from his plate in return and slipped the rest of his food into his mouth. Stark tilted his head after shaking it. “Greedy punk. Bet that's how you deal with your company's mergers and acquisitions, too.” Wayne gave a nasty curl of the lip and put his empty plate down at his feet.  
  
“Says the man known halfway around the world as the merchant of death.” For a moment, Tony looked sucker-punched. “First of all, that's none of your business. And second, that's a thing of the past, kay? I'm not standing for those things anymore. I learned the hard way, got it? Go spend three months in captivity and tell me it doesn't change you!” He wiped over his forehead with the back of his hand and made some disgruntled noises.

Bruce regarded him from the corner of his eye for the longest time. Then he cleared his throat. “You've done an okay job there so far.” From where Stark had sullenly fastened his eyes upon his shoelaces, he cast a wary glance up. “I would've done the same – close down weapon's manufacturing. Stand up for what's right.” Wayne's tone was quiet and reserved. Stark's features softened in the blink of an eye.  
  
“Okay, I think you earned yourself a marshmallow.”  
  
Before Bruce had time to object, Tony sprung to his feet and rummaged around the trailer.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The Gothamite had to admit that, once the sky began to turn dark, their bonfire atmosphere was quite idyllic. Flames idled around wood, cackling quietly. It might have been downright pleasant, if not for a certain someone trying to find ways to break the peaceful serenity. “C'mon now. Truth or dare?” Bruce twirled his makeshift marshmallow stick closer to the flames and pulled a face. “I don't like those games.”  
  
“You got something to hide there, or are you just plain boring?” Tony licked his thumb and held out a new line of marshmallows close to the bonfire. “I tend to think it's the first rather than the latter, but I might be wrong.” For a moment, it looked like Bruce Wayne either wanted to ram the marshmallow stick into Tony's left eyeball or stand up to leave the conversation. He did neither and eventually sighed.

The heels of his shoes dug deeper into the soil as he refastened his seating on the log.

“Truth.”  
A wicked smile appeared on Tony's face.  
“Name the last person you screwed.”

Bruce stared into the flickering flames, an intense frown between his brows.  
“You can't just let that one go, can you?”  
“Nope.”  
  
Expectant, Tony held his breath until Bruce's eyes found his. Both ignored the screeching above their heads.  
“It's not something I want to read about in US Magazine when we get back.”  
Stark made a 'cross my heart and hope to die' gesture. Wayne drew a lopsided smirk.

“Clark.”  
That time, the returning seagull successfully stole a bag of Doritos without Tony even noticing.  
“Nah. Na-ah ah, shuddup. That was a real nice try there, Wayne, almost got me good. Now truth.”

Bruce was glad the approaching dusk made the blush on his neck invisible. The corners of his mouth quirked as his eyes followed the peculiar sight of the gull wrestling with the chips bag. “Doesn't get any truer than that.” Stark, usually one for witty comebacks by the hour, took his time to boggle at the revelation. “For real. You're not joking. You _never_ joke. My.... gosh. How'd that slip past me?!”  
  
With a little yelp, Tony took away his smoldering marshmallows from the fire. “So you're basically saying... all those rumors about you and Lily Aldridge...” Bruce Wayne lowered his gaze and blinked long lashes against his cheeks. “Had dinner a couple of times. Truly a beautiful woman. But...” Tony raised an eyebrow at the burnt black remains on the stick.

“She was a beard. Wow. Bruce Wayne is a closet homosexual, who knew. Darn that I crossed my heart – this is gold. Pure gossip gold. Are you sure you're not wanting to come out soon?” More than a little skeptical, Bruce slid away from Tony's sudden, closer proximity. “Are _you_ sure you want to make it back home with your head still attached to your body?”  
  
The genius billionaire made a booing sound as he reloaded his marshmallow stack. “No need to bully me, Oscar Wilde. Imma go and also say truth, cause I got nothing to hide.” His reluctant gaming partner stared up into the clear, darkening sky for a few heartbeats. “Ever had second thoughts on making the whole Iron Man gig public?” Tony looked a trifle disappointed as if he had expected another kinky question in return.  
  
“Nope. I mean, it's not like I threw myself out there, not knowing what's gonna happen.” His opposite graced him with a shrewd, rather lopsided twist of mouth. "You mean after painting a target the size of California on you? No, of course not. My bad.” Instead of getting miffed, Tony actually chuckled and shook his head. “Careful there, or your whole concern-masked-as-sarcasm sham's gonna blow, Wayne.”

The flames crackled loud for them to hear, and interrupted their conversation. Bruce leaned forward to poke at the glimmering wooden chops with another stick he soon added to the fire. Stark busied himself peeling off two marshmallows, and hissed when he burned his fingertips. He made smacking noises after licking them clean and threw his reluctant camping partner a marvelous grin.  
  
“Now it's your turn again. Boy, I want another goodie like the previous one.”  
  
Bruce looked as if he now contemplated gouging out his own eyeball with the twig in his hand. “I have enough of this game.” Stark pulled a pouting face. “C'mon, just one more question. After that, we're done. Truth or dare.” Bruce's eyes darted in between his for a split second, trying to pick the lesser evil. “Dare if you must.” Tony leaned in closer and wet his lips with an impish twinkle in his eyes.  
  
“So predictable, how great is this. Okay now - I dare you to kiss me. Square on the mouth. Tongue is optional.”  
  
Something like instant stupefaction crossed Wayne's features.  
  
“Wha...? No!”  
Stark's face fell.  
“Excuse me? No?”  
  
“That's right. No!”  
At Bruce's firm refusal, Tony's expression turned sour.  
“That's not how it goes.”  
  
Wayne busied himself with shaking the near-melted marshmallows off the stick and remained silent. Stark cast him an incredulous look that soon turned into annoyance. “Why's it you're making out with other guys but not me? Surely not because of my looks, because, Wayne, let's face it – I'm hot. So what is it? Am I not your type? Was Clarkie a blonde? I'm also hot as a blonde if you've ever seen that one photoshoot I did in 2008, and...”

Angered, Bruce flung his charred twig into the fire with force and stood up. “Please cancel my subscription to your issues. I'm going to bed.” Tony also rose, about to argue and protest, when a wailing sound made them both turn around. The seagull gave a few, terminal sounding noises as it cramped on the ground, next to empty bags of M&M's and Doritos.

Stupefied, the two billionaires watched on as the animal heaved its final breath before it stilled forever. Wayne cast Stark a throughout rotten stare. “One more victim to your add to your non-existent guilty conscience.” Exasperated Bruce then stormed off for their trailer. Tony thoughtfully stared at the dead bird. “You think it's edible at least? Who knows – maybe it'll taste like chicken..?”

The metal door of the motorhome slammed soundly shut.

 


	9. Chapter 9

When it was time set up their nightly quarters, Wayne gladly offered Stark the bed. Much to Bruce's relief, Tony did not protest on separate sleeping arrangements. As it turned out, however, two genius billionaires trying to tackle the task of figuring out how to arrange the cushions on the dinette were neither sufficient nor efficient enough.

“This makes for some great blackmail material,” Tony remarked dryly, during what was probably their sixth or seventh try. “How about we throw the fucking thing out and light up the rest of the bonfire with it. This sucker probably burns real good.” A kick to the upholstery, then he sunk onto the nearby couch. Bruce scratched the growing stubble on his chin.  
  
“This can't be too hard.”  
Twenty fruitless minutes later, they lay pressed up against each other on the queen-sized bed.  
“Not a word to anyone about this.”  
  
At Bruce's grousing words, Tony chuckled out loud into the pitch-black room. “I've been in bed with guys worse than you. Speaking of which – you and Ollie Queen got it on for real, or was that just People Mag talking trash? I think it's the latter, I mean, who in their right mind would voluntarily try to bed the Ice King of Gotham City?” A dark head rose from the pillow. “I'm talking about the... what was that? What's that supposed to mean?”

Heavy indignation resounded in Wayne's voice. Stark grinned along soundlessly through the night. “Just sayin, no need to get huffy. Even though it's kinda cute. _You're_ kinda cute when you get all huffed up.” No idea as to make Tony stop babbling about, Bruce sighed out loud and turned on his back. The slatted frame responded with a rather sickening creak. “Why do I even bother with you?”

Tony scooted nearer, even if that did not seem possible, and bumped against Bruce's shoulder. “Because deep down, you like me. Really, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here.” Wayne harrumphed once and attempted to draw his head away from Tony's proximity. “If I wake up tomorrow and have head lice from your cowboy hat guy, then God help you.” A deep baritone chuckle resounded through the dark.  
  
“Ah, shush you little hypochondriac. Bet you'd never be able to live this way - just roughing it up in the woods, living alone and feeding yourself all on your own – that kinda thing. Yeah, no, Gotham prince, I really don't see it behind that huge entitlement of yours.” Despite an urge to kick Stark out of the cabin, the Gothamite settled for a set of pursed lips and composure.

“Look who's talking. I'm near positive you wouldn't last a day alone in the real wilderness. And frankly, I'm just waiting for you to cry for your long-lost wifi within the next couple of hours.” Tony clicked his tongue. “You'll be in for a surprise, Waynster. I'm more compliant with outdoor living than you think.” Bruce lifted his head, even though he could not see a thing in front of his eyes.  
  
“This is a goddamn luxury motorhome, Stark, don't go 'outdoor living' me here. Good night.” With a huff and a grunt, Bruce then brought another critical hit to the bed as he flung himself on his right side, away from the annoying way Tony breathed at his neck and closed his eyes. “Sourpuss.” There was some rustling of the blankets, then Tony turned onto his back. “Hey, Bruce...”

“What?”  
“I think my head's starting to itch...”  
“Shut up, Stark, I swear!”

Unbeknownst to them, a huge cold front started to move in their direction.  
  



	10. Chapter 10

At the first crashing sound of thunder and lightning, Tony cracked his eyes open, but remained quiet and looked around. Everything was calm and dark. From the way Bruce Wayne's breathing was still regular and even, he figured there was no harm done and closed them again. When loud thunder rumbled across the jagged landscape once again soon after, both men sat up straight.

It did not take long for the rain to pelt down on the motorhome's roof in a fast, even rhythm soon after. Tony cast a dismayed glance out into the pitch-black night. “Great. It's gonna be all muddy tomorrow. At least the stream will be holding enough water to...” All of a sudden, a distinctive movement went through the vehicle. “What the heck...” Those were the last words Bruce heard Tony utter before their motorcoach went at an angle.

The two barely had time to grab onto something as the trailer began to slide backward in slow motion; down the softened slope that had been their off-the-road campground. Wayne was the first one on his feet, actively trying to make his way up to the driver's cabin. Various items from their shopping sprees rolled into his direction, hitting his torso and shins as he crouched forward, almost in a diagonal position.

In no time, the rate of acceleration went from moderate to downright shocking, leaving him little to no time to react. Bruce clenched his teeth as an indefinable object slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. “Didn't you put the handbrake on?” Stark had just grabbed the comforter to pull himself back to his feet when momentum sent the RV onto its left side.  
  
More loose gear and furniture went flying around them like in a doll's house. Tony gave a loud yelp from where he found himself buried under blankets and cushions, stuck in between bed and wall. "What good would that do in a situation like _this?!”_   Bruce, who had gotten thrown headfirst into the couch element, heard the vehicle making grating noises as it continued to slide downwards, gaining even more speed.  
  
With a curse on his lips, he tried again for a near-vertical position and glimpsed into the back.  
“STARK! Get up here!”  
After a moment of terrifying silence said man gave a muffled, faraway answer.  
  
“I'm _trying!”_

Upon reaching the driver's cabin, Wayne realized the massive windowpanes thankfully seemed to be still intact. However, everything was dark, and they were still sliding and spinning, making it difficult to keep any constant equilibrium. As soon as Bruce had managed to reach the tilted backrest of the driver's seat, Tony stumbled against him from behind. “We gotta get outta here!”  
  
A queasy feeling set in when they felt themselves being lifted off their feet. It was a seismic shift; one that drove a stomach into the throat and triggered something primal in the brain. Bruce clenched his jaw and flexed all muscles at once. Tony was still clutching at his shirt. “Hold on tight!” The last thing he remembered was Stark's hand clawing into his shoulder, then the world spun around them.

The once valuable motorhome did a few downhill rollovers before it hit the gurgling torrent that used to be an idyllic river with a forceful splash.

* * *

“ _Severe thunderstorms with heavy downpours are raging over western Montana since yesterday evening. Roads are washed out because of mudslides. Thousands of households are without electricity. Police forces and national guard are advising everyone to stay at home...”_

From her spot on the couch, Pepper Potts's fingers dug into the cushion on her lap. She all but jumped when her mobile started to buzz in front of her on the table. “Lucius? Yes, I'm watching it, too. Have you heard anything? Because I haven't. What if...”

“Don't worry yet, Pepper, I'll try to get in touch with Bruce.”

“I've tried Tony's phone multiple times, nothing.”

“I am sure they've gone for shelter just in time.”

Pepper eyed the pictures on screen with underlying anxiety and chewed her bottom lip.

“Let's hope you're right.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Tony came to with a groan, and to a thumping pain from the right side of his face. He struggled to free himself from where he was trapped underneath some splintered remains of one of the many flat screen TVs and listened to the raging storm outside their wreckage. “Ugh. _Ugh._ Wayne? B-Bruce? Hello?” Weak, Tony pushed to his knees. They were not moving anymore, but his hands felt something wet and cold.

Water was pressing in steadily from the outside through the cracked windshield. Frantic, Stark wobbled to his feet and looked around. He flailed when a sharp pain erupted from his foot, and his fingers touched something that felt like skin. An unmoving Gothamite lay wedged in between the twisted steering wheel and the ripped out driver's seat. “BRUCE!” Tony prodded and pulled at the same time.

The water rose quickly, and he tried to heave Wayne's heavy upper torso out of the fast-growing puddle. At his touch, Bruce stirred and began to cough. He blinked his eyes open and stared into Stark's obscured face. “You alright?” Surprised at Wayne's very first question, Tony nodded and let go of him. “Think I busted my ankle or something. And I got a nice headache. You?”

Bruce touched the back of his neck and frowned when his fingers came away sticky and warm. “We've got to get out of here before this thing becomes a swimming coffin!” Pushing past the shaking feel in his body, Tony nodded and followed him hobbling on one foot. The Gothamite looked up to the door that was now pointing skywards. In no time, he jumped up to grab onto the built-in closets above.

Hanging in the air, Bruce then raised his legs and pressed them against the door. It did not move an inch, and he repeated his action with force. “What are you doing?” Tony stared at him as if he were insane. Bruce did not acknowledge him and continued to kick. “Grab any blankets, clothes, shoes, and food reserves you find. And the first aid kit. Move.”  
  
On all strength reserves he could muster up, Bruce finally managed to smash the door open.  
  
Once he sat atop the turned vehicle, he examined their position. They had been drifting further into forest territory and had come to a temporary standstill on the side, smashed against a formation of large rocks within the river. With the angry water whipping at the destroyed RV, it would be a matter of time until they either got washed away into some white water rapids further down the stream or drowned inside the wreck.  
  
Bruce blinked around, and against the heavy rainfall in his face. He tried to estimate their chances of making it through the raging water back to the shore, a couple of feet away. A voice from down below indicated that Stark had assembled two of their backpacks. Wayne reached out and pulled them and him atop the RV. “We might need to swim. Think you can do it?”  
  
Tony gulped, fought down any irrational fears from his time in Afghanistan, and nodded. “Yeah." The wet, metal hull was slippery, and they more or less inch-crawled their way over to the ladder at the end. Backpack wrapped around his torso, Bruce was the first to immerse in the ice cold water. It went up to his chest and tore at him, trying to carry him off his feet. “It's not that deep.”

He curled the toes inside his soaked shoes around the stony ground and looked up at Tony. “Give me your hand.” Bruce had seen the hesitation upon Stark's countenance. Despite his outstretched arm, the shorter man ignored him and let go of the last step of the ladder. A wave hit Tony as soon as he searched for support on the ground, and Bruce had to watch him go under for a second.

“STARK!”  
Wayne reached out just as Tony's head reappeared, dripping wet and coughing out frigid water.  
“Not... d—deep, huh? Goddamn gargantuan.”  
  
Grim, Bruce kept his aching fingers curled tight around Tony's biceps and dragged him onwards to the shoreline. A couple of times, they almost blundered and had to fight the masses of water hurling their way. After what felt like forever, Bruce felt how gravel piled up under his feet. They slogged along until the roaring river lay behind them and the ground became more solid. Tony slipped out of his grip and staggered to his knees.

Bright white lightning came crashing down upon them, illuminating the scenery for a split second. “We have to look for shelter. Real shelter. Away from the water and the trees. Come on.” Wayne made a move to help him up. With shaking limbs, Tony pushed himself back into an upright position. He reeled, trying to put pressure on his hurt ankle, and hissed out in pain. “Might have been better to stay in that damned thing then.”

Stark adjusted his sodden backpack and cast a glance back to their upturned trailer. “Faraday Cage and all of that, y'know? Basic physics stuff.” Before Bruce had the chance to comment on his accusatory tone, Tony limped onward. After a few yards, he near floundered on the dark, wet ground, only to be caught again by two hands. “Do not put any more strain on a broken or sprained ankle. Basic first aid stuff.”  
  
For once, Stark held his tongue and steadied himself on Wayne's shoulder.

 


	12. Chapter 12

At some point, the thunderstorm eased up, and the heavy rain turned to snow showers. Along with it, the temperature dropped palpably. Bruce meanwhile had his left arm clawed tight around Tony's midriff, dragging most of his weight along through the dark terrain. “Can't... I-- can't. Walk. Anymore. Lemme rest.” Stark panted out each word in between heavy puffs of cold air. Wayne denied with a grim shake of the head.  
  
“We have to stay in motion to keep warm. There'll be time to rest later.”   
  
Tony's ARC reactor shone through his soaked shirt, giving them the faintest source of light. “S what you've been telling me a mile ago, Wayne. We're running in circles, I tell ya.” Bruce wiped his free forearm over his face, and simultaneously the snowflakes that stuck in his lashes away. “We're not. The river's been to our right the whole time. If we follow it, we are bound to come across civilization sooner or later.”

Bewildered, Tony realized Bruce was right. “Billionaire boy scout.” He grimaced at the pain in his foot and hooked his arm tighter around Bruce's back. The Gothamite winced ever so slightly as Tony's hand pressed into the space between his shoulder blades, but stayed quiet and trudged on. "Once we found a place to stay, I'll go check on the RV. See if we can get anything out. It's unlikely the electronics have survived, though.”

Somewhere in the distance, an owl could be heard hooting. Tony shivered in Bruce's grip. “Right now I'd rather wonder if there's anything out _here_ waiting to have us as a midnight snack.” Wayne near tripped when a root trapped his foot, and he tore at it with impatience. “Bears, rattlesnakes, cougars, mountain goats, deer, and the occasional elk.” With each animal listed, Bruce put a foot in front of the other, dragging Tony along.  
  
“Well, don't I feel better now, Mister Wildlife Encyclopedia.”   
  
Stark all but slipped on the muddy ground, but Wayne held him upright. “Another reason we need to find shelter. Do I need to carry you?” Even at the prospect of having to lift the sturdy man, Bruce's still bad knee began to protest. “Hell no, forgettaboutit.” From where Tony kept his head down against the sleet, he stared at his legs and feet as if willing them to walk on. He all but faltered when Bruce stopped without warning.

“What? Oh.”  
The silhouette of a dark cabin loomed up in front. Bruce Wayne breathed out through his nose.  
“Finally. Get inside.”

* * *

 

The dilapidated state of the little wooden lodge became visible as soon as they entered. From the looks of it, the place seemed abandoned for quite some time. Water could be heard dripping through a leak, and it smelled of musty wood and stale air. Tony glimpsed around, not seeing much apart from the halo around his ARC. “Cozy.” Bruce disposed of their backpacks and began to move around the dark with unexpected ease.  
  
“It's better than nothing. See if there's something around to light a fire with.”   
  
Tony sat on a dust-covered, lopsided table and tapped at the glowing circle amidst his chest. “Right here. We can use the ARC to generate light and electricity.” Bruce's eyes darted from the blueish illumination on Tony's face back to the RV in his chest. “Too dangerous.” The smirk Tony cast him was a meek one. “For whom?” He stripped off his sodden shirt and felt for the metal circle.   
  
Bruce watched in silent fascination how Tony removed the glowing reactor from its case with care. He then looked up into the intrigued countenance of his companion. “Gimme some tinder. Dust, wood, anything. Just make it as dry as possible.” When the Gothamite held out some wooden splinters in front of his chest, Tony took two pieces of wire from the reactor and touched them above it.

In no time, sparks sizzled, flew, and Bruce was quick to carry the lit piece over into the designated fireplace area. Soon, he had brought the glimmering tinder to life with a few blows and some dusty items thrown in. By the time he was done, Tony had put his reactor back in. Both men then began to inspect their surroundings as the fire illuminated the rest of the single, smallish room.

The whole cabin was made of logs, but in many places, pieces of wood or even flattened out tin cans had been added to the interior of the walls to keep out the elements. A couple of solid black frying pans and crooked pots were hanging lined up on the wall above the fireplace. The small bed in the corner seemed dry and fairly clean, contrary to the designated kitchen or working area on the opposite side of the cabin.

Clutter, rags, old magazines, and dirty, crude tableware lay strewn around, some hidden underneath a solid mass of cobwebs. "At least we'll have enough paper to keep the fire alight for the rest of the night.” Bruce watched the puddles of water pooling around his feet, and at the spot where Tony sat. “We need to get rid off the wet clothes.” He moved to help Tony up and over to the bedside. Stark sat down with a pain-filled grunt.

When he feebly attempted to get his clinging sweatpants off, Bruce provided assistance. “See? Only took a thunderstorm and a twisted ankle for you to get in my pants, Wayne.” At his leer, the Gothamite snorted. “Your standards clearly are too low, Stark.” He turned his head and waited until Tony had covered his modesty with a woolen blanket. “At the prospect of us sharing this bed butt-naked, I'd say my standards are _just_ fine.”

Bruce seemed to ponder his objection and made a move to rummage through their backpacks. “All of the stuff we brought in is soaked.” He then slipped off his shirt and placed all of the sodden items in front of the fireplace. “I'll sleep on the floor.” Tony snorted and shifted to the far end of the bed. “No fucking way. Don't be ridic, Wayne, I'm not in the mood to jump your bones.”

He looked over to where the taller man stood, dressed only in an almost see-through, wet pair of pajama pants. “Even though the view is promising indeed.” Bruce did not blush, but he did turn around when he slipped off the last bit of clothes he wore. Quick to grab the first aid box and hold it in front of his exposed nether regions, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Put your injured foot up for me to see.”  
  
It turned out that Bruce Wayne was capable of splinting Tony's sprained ankle with surprising gentleness and expertise. “Nifty. Where'd you learn that?” Tony gave a little wiggle of his toes. Wayne did not answer and made a move to stow the first aid kit away. “Wait a sec, what about you? Let me see your back.” He made a move to put weight on his bandaged ankle, though he was quick to fall back on the mattress with a hiss.

“Ah, shit.”   
  
Bruce cast him a reprimanding look. “Leave that foot elevated. No use having you bumbling around.” Stark clawed his fingers around his fleeting form and grabbed onto a tight bicep. “The sooner _you_ comply, the sooner _I_ comply. Easy.” Wayne stared at him for a split second, before he sat back down and turned around. Tony began to tend to the large gash running from Bruce's neck over to his shoulder blade.   
  
Eventually, he could not help but to whistle in between half-opened teeth. “Damn, doesn't that look like Jackson Pollock threw up all over your back there. Scar tissue doesn't even cut it. Whoa.” With a brisk move, Bruce stood up and went to check the meager lock on the door. “I'm going back to see about getting some more supplies from the trailer tomorrow.” Probing fingers felt for the huge trail of band-aids Tony had applied to his back.

By now, warmth was flooding the cabin. From where he had ogled the Gothamite's muscular rear end, Tony felt his eyelids grow heavy. He patted the space next to him. “Tomorrow, yeah, said that 'lready. For now, get into bed. No innuendo intended. And that's a first for me here.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

If Bruce had thought sharing the queen-sized bed in the trailer had been awkward, he now felt indefinitely more at unease. The blanket was scratchy and smelled stale, and he tried to ignore the fact Stark and he were pressed up against each other, separated by a piece of fabric. “Can't sleep?” Bruce opened his eyes and was met with a close up of Tony Stark's face. “I'm trying to find a way out of this mess.”

The Californian billionaire quirked the corner of his mouth up. “I've had worse actually. At least it's warm and mostly dry for now. Nothing like...” He interrupted himself with a little laugh and stared down at the blanket. “...never mind.” Wayne's intelligent eyes darted over his face. The quiet hum of the ARC filled the silence. “Captivity you mean.” Tony's left eyebrow twitched. “Yeah. But this time, I'm not with the bad guys, so that's a bonus.”  
  
Bruce smirked without real emotion. “What makes you so sure?” At the same time, he reached up to massage his sore trapezius muscles. Stark just smiled. “With you being the Batman and all.” The massaging motions stopped abruptly. “You... know?” Bruce Wayne looked truly surprised for the first time since Tony Stark had met him. “I've always known.” It rendered the taller man speechless for a moment. Tony looked tired but smug.

“Vigilante with badass and most of all crazy-expensive gear? Tall, stealthy, muscular? Yeah, well, your dull-billionaire-boy scam may work upon the peeps in your hometown, but not on me.” Bare skin touched his when Tony tried to twist in the narrow confines. “It's alright though, I don't plan on telling. Didn't even tell Pepper - that counts for something.” His voice sounded drowsy, and Bruce watched his eyelids droop shut seconds later.  
  
He craned his neck to inspect the fire one more time and closed his eyes as well, listening to the cackling.

* * *

Day two descended upon them with the idyllic sounds of birds singing outside. Bruce blinked his eyes open and the little room into focus. Diffuse light shone through the shabby curtains. The fire had fizzled out during the night, but he was not feeling cold. A warm presence behind him shifted, and an arm that lay curled around Bruce's waist lightly twitched. “Mornin' sunshine.” Stark's voice was rough and sleep-laden.

He made no attempt, however, at trying to hide his morning erection that pressed itself right up Bruce's bare backside. Wayne slowly turned on his back. “How's the ankle?” He kept his voice quiet, and his gaze straight at the wooden ceiling as he made use of an easy set of meditation. Tony sat up, winced at his injured ankle, and put a hand to his temple. “Still a clusterfuck. And I'd kill for an espresso.”  
  
Once Bruce was reassured his own body functions were in check, he slung the cover aside and stood up. He grabbed for the nearest pair of boxer shorts that looked like his and was glad to find them dry. A rumpled shirt and a crinkled, still damp pair of chinos completed his outfit. His feet creaked on dusty floor as he padded over to the spread-out contents of their backpacks. Some mashed up Snickers looked like they were edible.

Bruce threw one over to where Tony still sat, together with some underwear and a sweater. “Water and food reserves are short, just like toiletries. I'll go and have a look at the trailer.” Stark caught the chocolate bar with ease before wiggling into the briefs. He then reached up into Wayne's direction with his free hand. “Okay, but help me up first. I gotta pee.”

After assisting Tony with as much privacy as possible, Bruce also went to relieve himself outside, and let his eyes wander around. The hut was not more than 50 feet away from the riverside, with many fallen tree logs strewn around. The storm had wreaked serious havoc. “We need to boil water from the river to be able to safely drink it.” Stark, now in a pair of gray sweatpants that was still damp around the elastic waistband, nodded.  
  
“I'll take care of that. You go find me some coffee along the way and I'll love you forever.” Their breaths were visible in the clear, crisp morning hour. Bruce went back to put on another layer of semi-dried clothing before he went off into the direction they had come from, equipped with two empty backpacks. It took him less than fifteen minutes to reach the stranded vehicle.

By now, the destroyed motorhome had twisted and turned with the force of water, bringing it closer to the shoreline, though still laying upturned on its side. In broad sunlight, the wreckage looked even more fatal than the night before. The outer hull was a twisted heap of dented metal, with gaping holes where all of the windows used to be. The front axle had been torn off completely, poking out of the water from several feet away.

Bruce figured they could be lucky to have walked away as unharmed as they did. The river was much calmer since the storm and downpour had stopped, idling on peacefully. He took off his shoes and rolled up his pants before he waded into the cold water. Now that the windshield was gone, Bruce was able to use the front as an easy entry. The water level was higher than before, and he mindful not to cut his feet on any sharp edges.

Atop the driver's seat, broken wooden panels yawned at him, displaying a DVD recorder that hung by a fragile cable. Bruce pried it free and stuffed it into his bag. His hands roamed through the water that went up to his calves, trying to find the remote control. No such luck, he made his way further into the trailer. The refrigerator had been ripped out of its socket and lay open on the side, missing the door.

Bruce knew that without proper tools, he would be unable to either get to the evaporator coil inside or the copper wire from the compressor. He made a mental note and looked around. A few, intact cabinets provided him with much-needed food, though most of it was from Tony's party stack. At least they were sealed and waterproof. He put an unbroken fishing rod near the exit, to take it along later on, and went on exploring.

Further down the trailer, the upturned lavatory lay open. Bruce peeked inside and spotted both his and Stark's toiletry kits. They looked to be still intact, even if the contents sounded and felt like many things were broken. He took them along, together with two rolls of dry toilet paper. In the back, he then found several more sodden blankets and cushions, which he folded and squeezed into one of his backpacks.

Remembering the entertainment console across the bed, Wayne knelt down and fumbled around murky water until he pulled out an antenna, cables, and a remote control. Next to his feet, the RV's now empty toolbox sat, ripped in half. Bruce ducked, groped, and soaked his shirt until he was able to grab a full-size ax, a hammer, and a decent folding knife from underneath splintered cabinet doors and the bed frame.

Realizing he could not carry more in one go, the Gothamite scrambled back out to where his shoes sat.

 


	14. Chapter 14

When Bruce returned to the cabin, a thin trail of smoke was wafting up through the crooked little chimney. During his absence, Stark had seen to get a couple of mugs from the kitchen area cleaned up, and disposed of most of the cobwebs. He also had built some sort of crutch for himself to walk around with; made of what looked like an old broomstick and some rags as padding. “No Starbucks on the way, sorry.”

Wayne could not help but to grin when Tony's face fell. He hauled his yields upon the table. “But maybe this will do.” At the vacuum-sealed bag of ground coffee, Stark's expressive countenance lit up like the sun. “Ohhh, I could kiss you.” Tony then made grabby hands, to which Bruce took a step back. “Please don't.” Stark all but poked his tongue at him, snatched the coffee bag and went over to the fireplace.

With the help of some ancient looking kettle and several pieces of folded-up toilet paper to use as a filter, Tony soon was able to present Bruce the very first cup of black coffee. “Who needs a Starbucks when can have your own survival roast, slow perked with fire.” After taking a first few, cautious sips, Wayne's face soon displayed honest appreciation. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Breakfast was two granola bars each.

Afterward, Tony went on to demonstrate inventor spirit. Taking a seat at the rickety table, he sifted through all tools and scraps Bruce had salvaged. “Shouldn't be too hard to make some kind of AM to get a wave carrier signal. Good job, B.” As he set to work, the Gothamite laid out the extra cushions and blankets from the motorhome to dry in front of the fire.

After stripping the stale bedspreads and sheets off their temporary bed, Bruce also grabbed both of their muddied pajamas. With a dented bottle of shower gel from Tony's kit, Bruce cast him a brief glance. “I'm going over to the river to try and get these cleaned up.” Stark glimpsed up, nodded, and went back to his work. “Take the tableware with ya.” At the pert tone, Bruce's eyes narrowed in indignation.

“Don't tell me what to do. Rather see about cleaning up this mess in here yourself.” Tony raised his head again. There now was annoyance written all over his features. “I can't walk, remember? Plus I'm working on getting us out here. Be a little more compliant.” Wayne turned and left without a word, though Tony very well heard him gnarl under his breath. Bruce came back two minutes later, a dark look on his face.

Wordless, he marched over to throw all bowls, pots, plates, and mugs into a rickety wooden box and stormed out once more without casting Tony another glance. After a while, the Californian billionaire had to take a break from sitting bent-over at the desk and cracked his shoulders and neck with a satisfying grunt. The first groundwork had been laid, and Tony eyed the small apparatus with its sticking out wires one more time.

To mollify his grumpy companion, he got up and made an effort and made use of the boiled leftover water to wipe down all surfaces and the floor. About to present Bruce another dirty rag to be washed, Tony carefully hobbled outside onto the splintered patio of their cabin. There, a more than strange scenery awaited him. A baffled looking Bruce Wayne stood at the shoreline of the river, face to face with a rouge mountain goat.

The animal had curled its mouth around a piece of clothing and tore at it with all its might. From his safe vantage point, Tony Stark observed the fierce tug of war that erupted. He could not help but howl out loud with joy when Bruce Wayne lost, taking a tumble backward onto his rear, and the goat fled with its haul. After Bruce got up, he grabbed all washed items and marched back over to where Tony was still laughing himself silly.

A wet piece of fabric then hit Stark square in the chest, to which he squealed. "YUCK! Where's your sense of humor, Wayne?" As soon as Tony had picked the item off and took a closer look at it, he realized something. “What the hell?! Go after that thief, Bruce! Sucker – that was my favorite PJ's!” At the way Tony cursed upon examining the tatters in his hand, Bruce snarled in schadenfreude. “Ah, but where's your sense of humor, Stark?”  
  
Before he went inside, he poked an arm through the large hole in the bottom of Tony's pants.

 


	15. Chapter 15

The scent of Stark's citrusy shower gel wafted through the cabin as the laundry hung to dry in front of the fireplace. Both men sipped more coffee and water to avoid eating from their sparse rations. When Stark went back to tinkering, Wayne inspected the fishing rod he had brought along. Tony arched a mischievous eyebrow up. “Care for a demonstration tomorrow, B? Try and get us some perch for lunch or something?”

At the teasing, Bruce ran his fingers over the winding and the fishing reel. “I just might, seeing _your_ performance was less than stellar.” His words, too, held no real malice, so Tony left him to his explorations. Soon he sighed and sat up. “The light is getting too bad for me to continue.” Bruce mustered the wild looking apparatus of wires and eventually nodded. “Tomorrow's another day. It doesn't hurt to get some more rest.”  
  
Outside, the sun had already set. When night fell, the temperatures again dropped along with it. Seeing they both were decently clothed this time, Bruce did not grumble too much when Tony made a subtle move to huddle closer. At some point, they both had dozed off. Until strangled sounds cut through the silence. “ _Unh.”_ Bruce raised his head to be able to peek over his shoulder. “ _Hngh.”_

The other man was laying on his back, head turned to the other side, and heaved uneven breaths. “Stark?” Nothing, except for the rasping sound coming in shorter and shorter intervals. Convinced the other man was hyperventilating in his sleep, Bruce sat up. The fire was out, but even without having to look around, he knew they were not in possession of anything remotely close to a paper bag for Stark to breath into.  
  
He touched his shoulder. “Tony, calm down.” If anything, the gasps only intensified and turned to frantic wheezing. Bruce shifted and rolled over until he was able to pin Tony's quivering body under his weight. When Stark did not wake but began to thrash instead, Wayne reached out to gently pin his wrists down. “ _HNGH--”_ Out of instinct, Bruce Wayne then did the first thing he could think of.

He sealed Tony's mouth with his and absorbed all of his hitched breathing, leaving his eyes open. The shift in emotions on Stark's face in the pale bluish light from the ARC came as soon as Tony's eyes opened with a start. They stared at each other from close up for a couple of heartbeats; unmoving and unblinking. At some point, Tony's mouth started to move, as if he was about to try and say something.

It was then Bruce took his lips away and loosened his grip on the other man's wrists. “You were hyperventilating in your sleep. I couldn't get you to calm down otherwise.” From where he was still partly straddling him, Wayne then rolled back and laid down on his side, away from Tony, facing the room. By now, the frenzied respiring had stopped and given way to slow and deep breaths.   
  
When Tony said nothing, Bruce also did not turn around anymore.   
“Try to sleep.”  
From the way the bed creaked, he felt the other man turn away as well.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Day three at Tony's self-proclaimed 'Camp Iron Knight' started off on a relatively peaceful note. That was until a full-grown bear scouted around outside the cabin, rummaging around for food. The two men sat with bated breath and peeked out over the rim of the dulled windowpane until the animal moved on with huffing sounds. Stark twisted his head to look at Wayne. “A good thing we've taken the outdoor latrines upwind, huh?”

Those were the first words he had spoken after the incident of the previous night. Bruce huffed. “No more of your awful shower gel. That stuff can be smelled over to the Canadian border.” Tony scrambled to his good foot and grabbed his crutch. “Why you Gotham hayseed, that's Molton Brown's Bushukan. It's zingy and fresh. A classic.” All he got in return was a pointed look as Bruce went to stash the bottle out of Tony's range.  
  
“I don't care, it's not going to be used again in _this_ bush. One zingy grizzly bear is enough.”   
  
After Stark had sulked at him for the longest time, they sat down to establish and divide a domestic routine into different chores. Due to immobility, Tony opted to make breakfast and look after the fire, while Bruce went outside to go and set up a place to chop wood later on. A walk around their cabin revealed an old, but still intact wooden ladder with thick, heavy footsteps, albeit quite slick from the weather conditions.

Bruce took it with him and propped it up against the side of the cabin to let it dry out, and went to break in the ax. Twenty minutes in, his work got interrupted when Stark called for him to come get breakfast. By that time, the stack he had chopped had grown considerably, and Bruce's face and cheeks held a rosy complexion. He reentered the cabin and wiped his arm over his forehead.

“The leak in the roof needs to be taken care of. I'll see if there's any way to do that.”

With a swift move, Wayne then pulled his t-shirt off, revealing some taught skin slicked with sweat underneath. Tony swallowed and managed to steal a couple of furtive glances. “Uh huh. I found some nails in a drawer, they might do the trick. But, before you go all Bob the Builder on this shack, come and have some coffee.” Hobbling away, he distracted himself by preparing two cups of the strong, brown beverage.  
  
Using his drenched shirt to wipe away the sweat from his back and neck, Bruce dropped it into their makeshift laundry box. He then took one of the proffered mugs and inspected the setup. “You think you can get a signal out today?” Tony blew at the curling steam upon his coffee and blinked at him. “Think so, yeah. Gonna try the good old channel 9 to see if there's anybody out there.”  
  
His eyes darted from Wayne's face over to his chiseled pectoral muscles and back. “You know, it's kinda hard for me to _not_ get a Bob the Builder fetish here, would you mind?” Tony tilted his head towards a set of shirts hanging in front of the fireplace. Bruce smirked. “Bitten off more than you can chew, Stark?” His voice held an ambiguous timbre, to which Tony countered with a click of the tongue.  
  
“Me? Nah. If I hadn't just misplaced my Benjamin Franklins, I'd be tipping like crazy now.” He leered at the slight but distinctive happy trail from Wayne's belly button down to where it disappeared into the waistband of his slacks. In a flash, Bruce's eyes hardened and he grabbed one of the dry, wrinkled long sleeve shirts. He put the empty mug aside with a thunk. “I'll go get back to work, just like you should.”

Tony frowned at the sudden asperity of tone that had replaced Wayne's brief bout of flirtation. “Sure, knock yourself out. Though not literally of course.” Without another word, the Gothamite stuffed the box of nails into the back pocket of his pants, turned and left the cabin. His scrabbling sounds outside on the ladder could be heard moments later. Sighing to no one in particular, Tony downed the rest of his coffee. 

He then focused back on getting the casing off the DVD recorder, knowing he needed to be careful not to break necessary parts without proper tools. In no time, dull thuds echoed through the hut from outside, making it hard for Tony to keep his concentration. He tried to ignore the hammering in seething annoyance until there was a particularly loud crack, followed by some falling wooden splinters next to his chair.

From his place at the table, Tony looked up and saw the flummoxed Gothamite peek through the even bigger hole he had just created. Stark let the wire work in his fingers sink. Wayne's looming countenance dared him to say anything. Tony, however, just could not resist giving him two thumbs up and a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Back to the drawing board, Bob.” His joviality was met with a couple of colorful, hissed out expletives from above.  
  
Tony silently marveled at their diversity as he wiped the splinters off the table with his sleeve.  
Who knew sophisticated Bruce Wayne could curse like a sailor?  
Interesting.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Fueled by irritation, Bruce went for the roof a second time, equipped with more crooked, rough slats of wood. He used the mental image of Stark's skull as inspiration to strike the hammer down with unrelenting blows, teeth clenched as the whole roof construction shook with every hit. Most of the nails were rusty to the core, and Bruce broke over a dozen of them in the process.

When he was finally done after half an hour, however, the hole was patched up enough to not allow any more water to leak through. Bruce hopped off the ladder and exhaled a huge breath. While most of his pent-up aggression had evaporated, he still was not keen on any conversation with Tony whatsoever. He, therefore, decided to turn to the still unfinished pile of wood instead. The longer they stayed clear of each other, the better.

When he heard a panicked scream, Bruce nevertheless wasted no time in dropping the ax and raced around the cabin. “What? WHAT?” He saw Tony sitting amidst a shallow spot of the river, fully dressed, and scrubbing frantically at his arms and torso. “Skunk! A goddamn skunk just sprayed me! ARGH, God – it's everywhere!” Bruce Wayne gulped down a huge breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead before it ran into his eyes.

“Why did you get close to a skunk? Nonono... you stay right where you are!” One hand held up as if to ward Tony off from coming too close, Bruce took a few steps back. Stark threw him a mean glare. After a few unsuccessful tries to gain momentum, he flung his arm out into Wayne's direction. “I can't get back up! Goddammit, Bruce, get over here and gimme a hand, I'm freezing my balls off!”

Indecisive, the Gothamite stepped closer to the waterside. At some point, he stopped and wrinkled his nose. His usually emotionless face twisted in utter repulsion. “Ugh. Forget it.” Tony gave an indignant yelp when Bruce turned on his heel. He slammed a palm into the water and glared daggers at the disappearing broad back. “HEY! HEY, WAYNE – THAT'S NOT FUNNY, YOU SICKO! SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL...”

While the genius inventor sat and launched a colorful tirade, Wayne came back, ax in his hand. Tony was quick to still. “Waitwaitwait, I take that back. You're no... err, how much have you heard?” Bruce did not say anything as he stood at the shoreline and stared down the sodden man. The Gothamite then gave the ax a little toss, which Tony figured no one should be doing with an ax, to switch it around and offer the handle.

“Hold on.”  
  
Once Stark was back on his feet and hobbled onward with caution, Bruce flipped the full-size ax around again and marched off, back to his forlorn pile of splinter wood. “You're sleeping at least half a mile away tonight.” Scandalized, Tony gaped at him, a hand square over his ARC reactor. “What?! No! What if I'm gonna get eaten by that damn bear?!” Wayne's face stayed neutral as he turned around and walked on.  
  
“No, you won't. Even bears have their pride.”  
Stark did very well see the tiny grin that Wayne attempted to hide.  
“You should've stuck with that dull-billionaire-boy attitude, wisecrack!”

If it had not been for their improvised receiver cackling and rustling that very day, Bruce would have acted out upon his threat. Instead, the two of them stood around the little radio station while Tony pressed his makeshift headphone construction close to his ear. Relief then washed over his features. “They are sending someone. Lots of roads are still blocked. They should arrive in three days.” Bruce only gave a curt nod.  
  
“Finally.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

Much later, when the smell that had accompanied Tony was all but gone, he was allowed back inside their cabin. As the sun cast crimson hues through their window, Bruce found him leaning over in what has become their bathroom–closet corner, digging through his many toiletries. “What are you searching for?” Instead of an answer, Tony soon held up a small little electronic razor into the air.

“I wanna look presentable once we get rescued”, he palmed his stubbly goatee. “It badly needs a trim.” He switched the little machine on with a whirring sound. Bruce Wayne, who had inwardly enjoyed the days of growing out a respectable amount of stubble, snorted in good-natured scorn. “It's not as if there's going to be a helicopter full of Playboy bunnies coming to our rescue.” Tony turned the razor off again with a meek smile.

He then busied himself to dig around for a pocket mirror, only to find it cracked. After a dismayed sigh, he eyed the Gothamite again. “You'll do it.” Bruce frowned. “Do what?” Crutch firmly in place, Tony hobbled over to where the other man stood and slipped upon the edge of the table. “Give me a trim. Be my mirror. You can do this. But soon, before the sun goes down.” Wayne tried to talk him out of it, but Stark remained persistent.

“I don't want to hear any complaints afterward.” With a wide grin, Tony held up three fingers. He spread his legs so that Bruce was able to step closer to the edge of the table. Long fingers then tilted his chin upwards as the machine began to whirr. Soon after, Tony began to fidget and earned himself a gruff “Hold still.” Stark placed his palms flat upon the tabletop behind him, resulting in Bruce having to lean over further.  
  
The latter then gave a dismayed harrumph and lowered the razor. “You need to sit up straight or else it's not working.” Sighing loudly, Tony pushed himself up again. “Then I need something to hold on to.” His hands reached out to clasp around Bruce's waist. “Okay, I'm ready. Go.” Wayne swallowed the bout of disgruntlement that wanted to worm its way out of his mouth and set the trimmer on for the third time.  
  
Mindful of the way Tony's fingers rested on the place between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants, he cast Stark a look. Tony was fixating him with one eye squinted shut. “The scruffy look's totally working for you, by the way. Maybe you should think about keeping it.” Wayne's eyes wandered along the lines of Tony's neck and jawbone as he worked in concentration. “Wouldn't work, for several reasons.”  
  
Quick to get the true meaning of his statement, Tony dryly chuckled. “Oh yeah, cowls and beards don't really mix, right. That'd look somewhat ridiculous.” Bruce said nothing and just turned Tony's head into the angles he needed it to be. His free hand came up to palm the other man's cheek as he worked on shaving a straight line from earlobe to chin. Stark's eyes slid sideways, trying to watch him work in concentration.

“Ever thought about a real helmet? I could get you one. _Make_ you one I mean. No one would know. I'd even refrain from property rights and everything.” Bruce's eyes briefly flickered up to where Tony was watching him and his motions intently through large, brown eyes. “No, and no.” His fingers rubbed and wiped away a few stray stubbles from Tony's cheek. Bruce then pulled back to inspect his work from afar.

The grip around his waist tightened for a moment, not letting him escape. “Why not? You're living a dangerous life there, Wayne, why won't you accept some help?” Stark cocked his head to the side as puzzlement and slight vexation crossed his countenance. “Because I don't need help. Now hush, or I'll leave you like that with a half-shaven face.” A rotten stare, but Tony complied. His hands stayed where they were, however.

Calloused fingertips refastened their hold around Bruce's midriff, and subsequently caught a bit of skin. “Never letting anyone close is draining in the long run. Believe me. I'm speaking from experience.” The hum of the razor switched from one side to the other. When no answer came, Tony closed his eyes with a sigh. After a while of silent work, Bruce had made his way over from the outer sides to the area around Tony's mouth.

He held the whirring machine up in mid-air, assessing. “Upper lip as well?” His question was a warm gust of breath against Tony's closed eyelids. “Mhm.” Cool fingertips ran along sensitive skin and made Tony curl his mouth. “Tickles.” Bruce's thumb brushed against the corner of his mouth to keep the skin taut as he ran the trimmer along frazzled contours. “Don't move.” Wayne adjusted his hand and tilted his head.

His knuckles brushed feather-like against the other man's jaw as he set to work again. He stilled when he felt Tony's fingers starting to rub gentle circles against his hipbones. “Tony...” Bruce's hesitant voice caused him to snap his eyes open, breaking his faraway reverie. “Hmm?” Confused brown eyes looked at him until Stark followed his line of view down to his fingers and realized his mistake. “Oh.”

Even though his motions stilled, Tony said nothing more and continued to keep his hands in the same place. Bruce soon resumed his task, albeit blinking more often to stay focused. Stark was now watching him. “First time you called me Tony, by the way.” Bruce made use of his sleeve to wipe the shaved-off hairs from Tony's chin. “Second.” A frown, and the briefest moment of narrowed eyes. “Second time?”

Wayne nodded, once, but left it at that. He was busy putting the finishing touches on the two areas left and right of Tony's soul patch. “Why don't I remember? I'd definitely remember _that_. No, think you're mistaken.” The electric whirring stopped. Bruce put the razor down next to Tony's thigh and smirked. It was a hard to define smirk; part bashful, part smug. “It was during your panic attack last night.” Tony's brows furrowed.

He turned his head sideways, avoiding eye contact. “Dunno what you're talking about. I don't have those. Maybe I've caught a cold and had trouble breathing, s'all.” Bruce's mild-mannered, knowing look and raised eyebrow only irritated him further. “You think you know it all, Wayne, huh? I'm telling you, you don't know shit, I... don't... hav...” His hands let go of Bruce's waist to grip the edge of the table tight.

Unbeknownst to himself, Tony began to fall into a pattern of taking huge gulps of air, breathing shallowly through his nose. The Gothamite remained where he stood, watching the change with skepticism. “Tony... easy there.” Without thinking, Wayne reached out to put his hands around the other man's neck. “Take a deep belly breath and hold it. Then exhale slowly through the mouth. On five. Again.”

Stark's frantic eyes darted within Wayne's calm facade, but he nevertheless did as he was told. They repeated the breathing exercise two more times on Bruce's instructions until the shuddering hiccups did not return. Exhausted, Tony sagged a little in Bruce' grip and averted his gaze. “Fuck. Fuck all this. Fuckin' hell.” Gentle palms forced his head back up. Bruce then squeezed his neck.  
  
“You got this. You did well. Relax. And keep on breathing. Slow.”  
In a move too sudden and unforeseeable even for Bruce Wayne, Tony Stark curled his hands tight into his shirtfront.  
He closed the minuscule distance between them with a tug and a tilted up chin and brought their mouths together in a strong, heady kiss.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Bruce's initial reaction was to draw back, let go of Tony's neck, and drop his hands. “Stop.” Vulnerability flickered up in Stark's eyes as he looked at him; breathing hard but steady. “Not even that, huh?” His deep voice held a touch of sarcastic defeat as he rubbed the back of his hand across a brow. “You're a nice confidence breaker, Wayne, d'you know that?” Jaw set tight, Bruce mustered him with wariness in his stance.

“It's not going away just because you're throwing yourself headfirst at random people, looking for temporary distractions.”  
  
Tony's head shot up from where he had inspected the wooden floor. “Why do I have the feeling this isn't about my so-called panic attacks anymore?” He air-quoted the words with something akin to disgust on his face. “I think it's kinda pathetic that you think you need to put forward some stupid excuse, instead of just manning up and tell it to my face.” Bruce's expression turned from impassive to vexed as he straightened up.  
  
“What would you like to hear me say then, Stark?” Tony gave a humorless laugh. “Tell me I'm repulsive, not your type, not good enough for you, you know – the blunt truth.” The Gothamite stared at him for a few heartbeats, then his jaw began to work. “None of that has anything to do with what just happened.” Too weary to listen, Tony waved him off and began to wiggle towards the edge of the table.  
  
“Yeah, whatevs. Move aside, Gotham, I want to get up. Let me go.” Bruce still had not moved an inch and stood, blocking his way with arms akimbo. Before Tony could get solid ground under his feet, Wayne grabbed his knees and pushed him backward. “You're overshooting the mark, as usual.” With those words, he leaned in to capture his lips in a far less rash, sensual kiss. Tony gave a sound like a muffled surprise.

His hands still interlinked in the back of Bruce's neck immediately after, while their lips remained locked; testing, nibbling, tasting. After a couple of seconds, they separated, blinking the surroundings back into place. Tony hummed out a quiet, dreamy melody. “You're a great kisser, Wayne, anyone ever told you?” Bruce's lips curled into some mock-supercilious smirk. “All the time.” It earned him a jab to the chest. “Smug bastard.”  
  
When Tony leaned back on the table, Bruce followed willingly.  
  
With Wayne draped over him, Tony was able to feel his body's reaction pressing up against his thigh. A grunt of approval, then Stark angled his pelvis up to grind against him. “This either is a dream, or you're suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. In any way, don't stop.” The distant mumblings against his lips got Bruce to draw back and look at the enchanted face underneath him. “I don't remember being taken hostage by you.”

Stark made a displeased little noise in the back of his throat and wiggled under him. “A case of false pretenses then, and now you _did_ stop. Bummer. I said we're not stopping.” His fingers raked through the hair in Bruce's nape and pulled him closer yet again. When Tony almost had him back to sealing their lips, the sound of rustling static brought them out of their haze.  
  
Bruce detached himself and went to turn up the volume of the little station. With a frustrated groan, Tony thunked his head back on the table. “We're getting some heavy traffic news coming in. Maybe the power is back up around us.” Tony pushed himself up on his elbows and listened on to the one-way talks over the receiver. “Channel 9 is starting to liven up. Our rescue party might be here sooner than expected.”  
  
With the magic of the moment gone, Bruce went to busy himself with getting in another armful of firewood for the night, while Tony went to toast a pack of cinnamon pop tarts over the fire. They ate in a companionable proximity of each other, albeit in silence.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Nighttime came all too fast, but the fire from Bruce's huge supply of chopped wood provided a steady warmth inside the cabin. After both men had brushed their teeth and spit the remains into the little makeshift basin, Tony slid into the corner of the small bed and tentatively eyed his companion. “I kinda feel like an awkward teenager, don't ask me why.”  
  
Wayne slipped under the cover, took a dismayed sniff at the lingering citrus scent, and cocked an eyebrow. “Why?” Stark rolled his eyes. “To think I used to believe you were actually a grown up, stick in the mud. Hilarious.” He shifted his injured foot up and out of jostling range and twisted onto his side. “Anyhow. Us having conquered first base means I get to spoon. Turn around.” Wayne snorted only loud enough for him to hear.  
  
“I don't spoon.”  
  
It earned him an equally disdained harrumph. “Figured. S'why I'm spooning you.” The wooden bed frame creaked as Bruce stretched out to his full 6'1 with a smirk. “Aren't you a little short for that?” A sturdy finger poked his ribs. “First of all, fuck you. I'm not short, I'm compact. And second – what would _you_ know about the laws of spooning, Mister 'I don't spoon'?” Tony grumbled on some more until Bruce turned onto his side.   
  
As he snuggled in from behind, Stark put his arm around Wayne's waist and pressed his chin into the back of his neck. “Promise you won't get cooties, you old curmudgeon. Admit it - this is nice, innit?” His fingers brushed against a little strip of skin between Bruce's shirt and pants before they got stopped. “If you're getting too handsy, I swear I'll kick you out.” Nimble fingers then pinched his abs. “Killjoy.”  
  
Tony did not advance any further but kept on caressing the same spot on Bruce's stomach in tender motions. “If anyone would've told me a week ago I was going share a bed with the prince of Gotham, I'd have laughed my ass off. One lost bet's bad enough.” Bruce's quick frown went past him unnoticed. “Bet?” Stark's circling movements stopped for a moment. “Long story. Quite old, too. Forget it.”

He protested when Bruce turned and twisted until he was lying flat on his back and turned his head to face him. “What kind of bet? With whom?” Tony looked like he wanted to kick himself. “Nothing serious, just Ollie and me, couple of vodka shots at an event, and the good old 'would you rather' game.” In the warm glow of the flickering flames, Wayne's face remained unnervingly impassive. “You've been talking about me with Oliver Queen?”

Tony's white teeth flashed back at him. “Nonono, it was more like whom we would rather, uh, well... y'know...” Bruce's eyes turned to slits. “No, I don't _know._ ” The shorter man began to fidget under the blanket, bumping into Wayne's legs. “Well, it's been a long time, probably years, so I don't know – I was drunk like I said, and...”  
  
_“_ _Tony...”_  
  
Upon the dangerous undertone, Stark turned his gaze away from the pair of vexed hazel eyes and stared at the wooden patchwork ceiling instead. “Blow, okay? Whom we'd rather... yeah. Forget it.” When the Gothamite stayed silent, Tony hastened to amend his statement. “Oh, but I would've never pegged you to... – I mean, considering your 'straight as an arrow' image and such. So, naturally I...”

“You picked someone else to go down on instead of me.”    
  
The deadpan retort came out of nowhere and made Tony chuckle. “Oh no, actually I didn't, but then Ollie said something about no chance in hell, pal, and well... let's just say I lost $10,000 bucks because I couldn't live up to my big fat mouth and-- make a move.” The quiet chortle that followed was so foreign that Tony had to look at Bruce Wayne again to make sure it did stem from the man by his side.  
  
“You actually find that funny. Huh. Who'd have thought.” Bruce curled his lips in amusement. His eyes zeroed in on Tony's lips. “Funny, considering it might just be the way to get you to shut your big fat mouth for a while, yes.” Tony felt a wave of heat rush to both his cheeks and his nether regions. “I... could go and take that as an invitation, y'know.” He swallowed hard when Bruce's intense eyes did not waver.

“I know you could.” Wayne's voice now held a tinge of enticing timbre. His left eyebrow rose. “But would you?” The squeak that escaped the back of Tony's throat had a touch of panic to it. “Are you trying to kill me here?” His tries to adjust himself under the blanket were only halfway successful. Bruce suddenly wore a rather shark-like grin. “Just trying to figure out if I'm still able to win _my_ bet with Oliver, that's all. Good night.”

The bed creaked when he turned over again, facing the room. “You may still get to spoon if your hard-on permits.” With a shake of the head and a smirk, Tony scooted closer and wrapped his arm around him. “You got a lot of explaining to do, Wayne. And you better believe I'm gonna give you the blowjob of your life once we're out of here. Imma make you come so hard, you'll forget your name whilst screaming out mine. Punk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stumbled over the cringeworthy correlation of arrows and Oliver Queen.. I'm sorry *covers eyes*


	21. Chapter 21

As it turned out the next day, Bruce Wayne was in fact quite good at fishing. He never mentioned a word to his companion about how he also enjoyed fishing a great deal. As much as Tony's company was enlightening, Bruce still enjoyed the moments of utter silence and peace upon the lake. When he returned to the cabin with a medium-sized trout, Tony was out and about but had left the door open for him.

Bruce did not see or hear the rattlesnake inside the basket on the table before it was too late.

Even if he was quick to jerk his hand away, it still scraped its fangs across his skin. His unusual vocal exclamation of pain caused Tony to hobble over into his direction without his crutch. “Don't come closer – rattlesnake!” Bruce pressed the stinging hand under his opposite armpit and backed away from the slithering serpent with slow, cautious moves. Wide-eyed, Tony skipped backward, near losing his balance on his bad foot.  
  
“Shitfuck. It got ya?”  
Keeping his eyes on the snake, Wayne pointed an arm into Tony's direction.  
“Get me a stick and get out of the way.”  
  
Bruce eyed the reddish dot on the back of his hand for a split second before he focused back on the coiled up, hissing snake. Tony grabbed his makeshift cane and handed it over. “Fuck, did it bite you? Bruce? That's venomous, holy shit!” The Gothamite stepped upon a nearby rickety chair and used the stick to maneuver the snake out of their cabin with one fast swing. Afterward, he collapsed upon the chair and examined the wound.

The snake had not gotten its full poison potential under his skin, but the area around the bite was beginning to swell fast. Tony limped closer and inspected the wound. His face was taut with worry. “You gotta lay down, move as little as possible. C'mon.” Sweat was already starting to form on Bruce's forehead. He clenched his teeth. “It's not that bad.” As it turned out, it became worse than Bruce figured at first.

His hand began to swell rapidly within the next fifteen minutes, and his whole body erupted in bouts of shivers and cramps. Anxious, Tony hovered close by, cooling his sweated brow with a small rag. “They said they're gonna be here any minute. I'll be hearing the chopper, don't worry.” Bruce's squeezed his eyes shut against another bout of cramping pain. “No. Go w-wait outside. Bring'em here.” Determined Tony shook his head no.  
  
“I won't leave you alone here like this!”

“Why not? Stupid o'you. So s'upid.”  
  
Wayne's slurred way of speaking began to worsen with each syllable.  
“Because you're important to me you fucker, okay?!”  
Bewildered and feverish, Bruce stared at Tony and his emotional outburst.  
  
“... special way t'put it.”  
Stark's worry gave way to a brief grin.  
“I _am_ special.”  
  
The dabbing to Wayne's brow then continued.  
“Once this is over, we're gonna do a spa retreat. Something non-hazardous.”  
Bruce swallowed and attempted to smirk.  
  
“N'more vacations w'you.”  
Out of the blue, Tony leaned in and kissed his heated cheek.  
“We'll see about that.”

 


	22. Chapter 22

The rescue helicopter sent by Cascade Country found them twenty minutes later. By then, Bruce's fever was spiking. He immediately got administered several shots of antivenin before they prepared to fly him out to the nearest hospital. Tony's foot meanwhile had swollen twice its regular size, and he had to grudgingly accept being carried out on a stretcher as well.

As they lay strapped to their respective gurneys side by side, Tony reached out and grabbed for the fingers of Bruce's good hand. Wayne was drifting in an out of consciousness but gave a smile with eyes closed at the unsteady touch. The rest of their journey was a blur of neon lights, hospital corridors, and, in Tony's case, the stricken face of Pepper Potts rushing in to crush her gone-missing friend and business partner in a hug.

A small choke escaped the back of her throat. “I don't think I'm able to handle another disappearing act from you in the upcoming 20 years.” She smelled of clean linen and faint lavender, and Tony closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. “What can I say, Potts, with me it's always go heavy or go home.” The redhead held him at arms' length. Her eyes wandered over his shabby get up, trimmed beard, and bandaged foot.

“Where is Bruce Wayne? Is he alright?” Tony shifted on the hospital bed and rubbed his neck. “Got bitten by a rattlesnake, but they got him the antivenin in time. He's still in ICU, but his butler flew over as well, from what I heard.” Pepper's eyes widened in shock and concern. “Gosh, Tony, I am so sorry, none of this was supposed to happen.” He waved her off and leaned back on the cushions.

“Ah, well, it's not like the trip was all bad. We've had some good times, too.” His eyes held a wistful glimmer, making Pepper wonder if the doctors had given him too strong painkillers. She brushed her hand over his unruly bangs. “I think it's best if you try and rest a little now. Happy's bringing the car in about twenty.” His fingers caught hers and held on tight. Tony Stark then graced her with a magnificent, doped-up grin.  
  
“Pep, hey, psst... don't go tell anybody, but I think I might be in love.”

 

_~epilogue~_

  
“I do it!”  
“Forget it. You made a fool out of both of us the last time. People probably still remember.”  
“Oh please, as if your own foolhardy stunt was any better.”

“Wanna draw straws or what?”  
“No. What I want is for you to take the passenger seat, sit down, and shut up.”  
“Whoa there, that's bossy coming from you, Wayne! I'm shocked.”

Bruce snatched the car keys out of Tony's hand with a finalized manner.  
“It's apparently the only way to deal with you, Stark. ”  
He threw his right arm over the headrest and fixated the trailer in the back.

“And this boat is going to launch. Today.”  
Tony cast him an amused look before he slipped on his shades.  
“I love it when you're all fierce and commanding.”

The Gothamite checked his surroundings at Holter reservoir one more time.  
“You're not the only one.”  
Tony gave an indignant sounding squeak and crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Oh, I bet. 'Clark' probably loves it, too.“  
Fond exasperation shone back at him.  
"Really now? You're still hung up on that?"  
  
The truck's engine sprang to life. Tony clicked his tongue.  
"I want to know! So sue me!"  
Bruce just smirked.  
  
  
**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, yeah, what can I say, other than to put it like Porky Pig: "Th-th-th-that's all folks!" 
> 
> Thanks for coming along on this crazy journey, even if you are now convinced neither Tony nor Bruce should ever attempt to go camping again. You're probably right :D
> 
> Many thanks to Batsocks for all the support and the background info... I'm deeply sorry this didn't have more of Montana's beauty, or smokin' sexy times in it! Seeing you've given writing a try yourself just recently, I hope there might be something from your pen in the future that will do these factors true justice! 
> 
> Off to the next piece of IronBat shenanigans I go..

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and btw, go check out the amazing little corner at batsocks.tumblr.com if you haven't already. It's a great place to spend your time lusting after the aforementioned superheroes / their respective actors!


End file.
